


out of time

by lightfighter08



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife, F/F, Human Carmilla, but she's a TIME TRAVELER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightfighter08/pseuds/lightfighter08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how often it happens, Carmilla never gets used to it. Sometimes it makes her feels like she’s centuries old, this being pulled in and out of time without any say in the matter. Sometimes it’s a gift, a chance to sweetly relive moments with loved ones and places long since out of reach. And sometimes the pain of it is almost too much to bear. When those dark times come, though, Carmilla can always rely on one thing: that Laura will be waiting for her, as if they had all the time in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	out of time

**Author's Note:**

> So basically the idea of a Time Traveler's Wife AU entered my mind a couple weeks ago and has been lingering even since.
> 
> And since it's my university's reading week (though we call it Dead Week, which I find delightfully macabre) right now (no ominous anglerfish-caused earthquakes though, probably a good thing), naturally I thought this was the best time to take a crack at it.
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this, hopefully it didn't come out too tropey. Enjoy!
> 
> (Also, if you haven't read The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger, I highly recommend it. Such a good book!)

No matter how often it happens, Carmilla never gets used to it. Sometimes it makes her feels like she’s centuries old, this being pulled in and out of time without any say in the matter. Sometimes it’s a gift, a chance to sweetly relive moments with loved ones and places long since out of reach. And sometimes the pain of it is almost too much to bear. When those dark times come, though, Carmilla can always rely on one thing: that Laura will be waiting for her, as if they had all the time in the world.

* * *

 

**Laura is 8, Carmilla is 24**

It’s cold. That’s the first thing Carmilla registers. It’s cold and the ground she’s woken up on is muddy and _god_ , this shit gets old. Cursing, she stumbles to her feet, trying to get a feel for where and, perhaps more importantly, _when_ she might be.

That’s when she notices the girl sitting at the foot of a tree a few feet away from her, her eyes wide and hands white-knuckled around a book. She can’t be older than ten or so, maybe even a bit younger, and she’s clearly about to freak out.

Oh, shit.

Cursing again, and then cutting herself off lest she alarm Laura even more (because who else could this be but a pint-size version of her girlfriend? This may be the youngest she’s ever seen her, but there is no denying that Laura Hollis’ eyes look out at her from this girl’s face, inquisitive even as they show fear), she puts her hands out in a supplicating manner, trying to look non-threatening as possible (jury’s still out on whether or not the whole being naked thing is harming or helping matters).

“Hey, hi, so I know this is a little strange, but I promise I don’t mean you any harm-”

But as soon as Carmilla utters the word “harm,” Laura snaps out of the morbidly fascinated spell she’s been in, jumping to her feet and taking several wary steps back, clutching her book tightly to her chest.

“Don’t- don’t come any closer! I’m taking Krav Maga and Daddy says I’m the fastest learner he’s seen, and I’m warning you!” she says, clearly trying to sound threatening, but the shaking of her voice belies any menace her words may have held.

Carmilla keeps her hands out, forcing her voice to remain calm and level. “Okay, I won’t. But it’s very cold out here, and as you can see I don’t have any clothes, so could I please borrow your jacket?”

(She’s learned from more trial and error than she’d like that acquiring clothing is the second most crucial step of getting out of these little time-hopping episodes more or less unscathed, right after figuring out where the hell she is.)

Carmilla can see the fear and curiosity battling it out on the girl’s face and feels a jolt of affection; even at this age it seems Laura’s urge to pursue knowledge is alive and well.

Mercifully, Laura’s insatiable curiosity wins out, and instead of turning tail and bolting, she warily removes her oversized rain jacket and tosses it to Carmilla, who catches it thankfully and pulls it on as best she can. It’s still too small for her, of course, but it’s better than nothing by far.

“How did you get here? This is my family’s property and I didn’t even hear you coming!” Laura bursts, clearly overflowing with questions now that she’s decided Carmilla isn’t an immediate threat. Another thought occurs to her, and she adds, “And why aren’t you wearing any _clothes_?”

Carmilla decides how to approach this. She could go with the confused-and-lost-traveler route and try to play off the whole thing, but she also knows that she must have explained her situation to Laura at some point. And frankly, she’s not overly sure of how successful the former option would be, anyway, considering the circumstances in which she arrived.

So it’s going to be the truth, then. Well, she’s always preferred being honest with Laura, and anyway it doesn’t hurt to start out on a good foot with her girlfriend’s younger self, right?

“Well, the thing is, you and I actually know each other, Laura,” she starts, carefully gauging the girl’s reaction.

Laura visibly starts. “How do you know my name? I don’t know you!” she stammers out, sounding panicked.

“My name’s Carmilla. And you don’t…yet,” Carmilla says. “But we actually become pretty good friends.” Here comes the tricky part. “And before you ask how I know, it’s because I’m _from_ then. I’m a time-traveler.”

Laura looks skeptical. It’s understandable; Carmilla is _still_ skeptical about the whole thing, and she’s the one being yanked around her timeline like a deranged yo-yo.

“A…time-traveler,” the girl says dubiously. “Like the Doctor.”

Ah, yes. Carmilla should’ve known _Doctor Who_ would be making an appearance sooner or later. But hey, if it helps, what the hell? “Uh…sort of. Yes.”

Laura’s face scrunches up in that familiar look of anger that is even more adorable in its child incarnation. “And you expect me to believe that?! That’s a TV show! This is real life!” she volleys back vehemently.

“I can prove it,” Carmilla quickly cuts in. “Your name is Laura Hollis. Your parents are John and Elizabeth Hollis. You love reading more than anything else, particularly the _Harry Potter_ series, and your favorite foods are hot chocolate and cookies. And…” she regrets the words even as she says them, something Laura had confided in her, but she knows she needs to prove herself absolutely. “…and you’re an only child, and even though you pretend to be okay with it because you don’t want your parents to be sad, you get terribly lonely and still wish for siblings every birthday.”

Laura looks stricken, and Carmilla hates herself for hurting her.

“How…how did you know that?” she asks softly.

“Like I said. We’re friends, in the future.” (More than friends, of course, but Carmilla figures that’s probably a bit much to dump on a possibly-less-than-ten year old.)

Before Laura can formulate a reply to this, they’re interrupted by a female voice, calling Laura as it grows closer. Laura looks nervously at Carmilla.

“That’s my mom,” she says. “I was supposed to go in a little while ago.”

A mixed wave of sorrow and anticipation crashes over Carmilla at the mention of Laura’s mother; regardless of any horror the woman may understandably react with at the sight of a nearly naked, muddy stranger conversing with her young daughter, she still can’t help but want a glimpse of the near-mythical person who still casts a long shadow over so many parts of Laura’s life, and who will leave her in only a few short years.

But it seems that Carmilla won’t get the opportunity. Even as the voice grows louder – Laura looking frantically between its source and Carmilla – she feels herself going, the familiar mix of weakness and dizziness overcoming her.

“Hey! Whoever you are! You need to hide, now!” Laura hisses at her, but Carmilla waves her off with a laconic, increasingly transparent hand.

“No need, cupcake,” she manages to get out – and her departure must be imminent if Laura’s gasp and look of astonishment is anything to go on – “Looks like my time here is up.”

Seeing a hint of confused dismay enter the girl’s features, she adds, “But don’t worry. I’ll be back…”

The last thing she sees is a pretty, youngish woman entering the clearing they’ve been talking in, and regretfully notes that Laura looks exactly like her mother.

 

**Laura is 20, Carmilla is 25**

Laura sniffs, wiping away the last of her tears. Carmilla had stormed out after their fight – knowing her, probably to go to the roof of the library and stare at the stars – and Laura doesn’t think she’ll see her again for the night.

God, why did they have to argue about this? Laura loves Carmilla so, so much, and she knows the other girl loves her back. And Laura has told her so many times that she doesn’t care about her condition, loves it as just another part of what makes Carmilla, Carmilla.

But after that night a month ago, when Carmilla had returned with a broken arm and a black eye and refused to talk about what had happened or where and when she’d been, things have gotten rough. Carmilla seems to have gotten it into her head that her condition translates into some kind of basic lack of dependability, that she’s more of a burden than support system to Laura.

Laura knows this isn’t true, of course, but once Carmilla decides to believe something about herself it is notoriously difficult to convince her otherwise, and in the meantime it’s causing her to try to withdraw from Laura. She sighs, picking morosely at her comforter, and ponders texting LaFontaine and seeing if they want to watch a movie or something to get Laura’s mind off the whole sorry topic.

Just as she picks up her phone to do just that, a loud clatter and curse from the bathroom causes her to jump and drop her phone. She clambers off her bed, ready to break the bathroom door down and neutralize the threat before it even knows what hit it, before it occurs to her that the only person she knows who has the ability to spontaneously appear behind closed doors is incidentally also the person she just had an explosive fight with.

Before she can decide whether or not to escape what may be a very awkward interaction, the decision is made for her when Carmilla – not her Carmilla, but an older one – walks out of the bathroom, wearing one of Laura’s t-shirts and some shorts. Of course.

She smiles at the sight of Laura, but it fades just as quickly when she takes in the girl’s expression. Rushing over, she pulls Laura into a hug, and Laura lets herself relax into it; even if she’s mad at her, she can’t deny that Carmilla gives the best hugs.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Carmilla says after a moment. “What’s wrong?”

Laura pauses, trying to find a tactful way to tell her girlfriend’s older self that her girlfriend is being completely unnecessarily self-sacrificing despite Laura’s objections and at the cost of her own happiness.

Mercifully, her expression seems to say enough, because Carmilla sucks in a breath in understanding, before looking slightly rueful. “Oh god, I remember this. I’m a senior, right?”

Laura nods and Carmilla sighs.

“I’m sorry for her – or, well, _me_ – Laura,” she says, looking tired. “I’ve never been able to think of this condition as anything other than a curse…and you’ve scared me.”

Laura blinks. “I’ve scared _you_?”

Carmilla nods seriously. “I only started visiting you after I met you, of course, and I think meeting so many iterations of you and building a relationship with you in so many different times in your life stressed me out a little bit.”

Laura considers this. To her, Carmilla has been a part of her life since she was eight, as definite and inevitable a presence as that of her father. She sees everything from that lens. Carmilla, on the other hand, is having a lot dumped on her all at once.

“I guess that’s fair,” she admits, a bit reluctantly. “But I still don’t see why she thinks she’s burdening me in any way…I don’t think she – you – _could_ be a burden on me.”

At this Carmilla smiles, leaning forward to kiss her. “Thanks for saying that, cupcake. As for that…well, all I can say is I promise I pull my head out of my ass eventually.”

Laura bursts into surprised laughter and Carmilla grins. “Now, how’s about some of that ridiculously absurd show you love so much, if I recall? _Parks and Rec_?”

Laura cheers and reaches for her laptop, and Carmilla taps her lip in mock contemplation.

“Or, I could just tell you everything that happens, and instead try to make up for my younger, more foolish self’s transgressions?”

Laura smiles, biting her lip, but then straightens and points a mock-serious finger at her. “No spoilers. I don’t care what you know.”

She closes her laptop. “As for that other part, though, I’m open to your attempts.”

Carmilla smirks, reaching up to pull her t-shirt off. “I always aim to please, cutie.”

 

**Carmilla is 40, and 17**

She arrives in a clatter of shampoo bottles. She’s in the…bathtub. Of course. Why is it _always_ the bathtub? There are a million different places she could appear in her childhood home, but no, it always has to be the goddamn bathtub.

Cursing, she manages to get out of the tub without any more grooming products attacking her, and shrugs into a Sex Pistols t-shirt hanging from the door, and then, after some consideration, a pair of leather pants. If she’s going to relive her teen years, she may as well go all the way (and it’s not at all a slightly vain celebration of the fact that she can still fit into them. Of course not).

Entering her childhood bedroom, she pauses for a second at the sight of her younger self lounging on her bed (boots on, as always) before shrugging and waving a hand in greeting.

Teenage Carmilla barely spares her a glance before returning to her book (Carmilla knows without looking that it’s _The Jungle Book_ ; she must’ve reread it at least ten times through her teen years – something about the imagery of Kipling’s black panther, Bagheera, was so appealing).

“You’re wearing my clothes,” her younger self notes, idly flipping the page.

Carmilla suppresses an eye roll with effort; she may not exactly be a ray of sunshine at 40, but her teenage self could be a real piece of work.

“What’s yours is mine, cupcake,” she replies smoothly, getting a certain amount of pleasure from using her nicknames on, well, herself. Ah, the wonders of time-travel. “I’m pretty sure one’s possessions are always one’s possessions, no? And I’ve always been fond of this shirt.”

Carmilla on the bed _does_ roll her eyes, before lifting her gaze from the book to her visitor, taking her in properly for the first time. “Well, if nothing else I suppose I should be happy I live long enough to get old.”

Like she said: a real piece of work.

“I’m hardly _old_. I just turned forty!” she retorts, just a touch too defensively. (Damn. Turns out she _is_ all-too aware of her mortality. Also, why is she arguing with her irritatingly snarky self, give or take twenty years, and worse, _losing_? This is enough to give anyone an existential crisis.)

Teenage Carmilla just shrugs a bit smugly before putting her book down, apparently deigning to give her older self a couple minutes of her attention. “So how long does this visit last? Mother and Will should be home soon.”

Carmilla grimaces at the mention of her adoptive brother, as she always does. “Not too long, if I recall. I hope it doesn’t, anyway. I was kind of…in the middle of something.”

And by the middle of something, she means that she was about to _finally_ sleep with Laura after what feels like ages; Laura’s been neck deep in government records that had just been released to her paper after their FOIA request, and has been in the office late into the night for the past week and a half.

The teenager raises her eyebrows, but Carmilla doesn’t elaborate, because elaborating would necessitate mentioning Laura, and she knows that her younger self isn’t due to meet her for a least a year or two. Anyway, her teenage self doesn’t really expect any details – they both know the rules. They made them, after all.

They sit silently for a beat, before she asks, a bit awkwardly, “So…how’s Mother?”

It’s her younger self’s turn to grimace. Her – their – relationship with their adoptive mother has always been complicated and strained, but it was probably at its worst during her teen years; they both blamed her for having a hand in the disastrous end to her relationship with Ell.

“Oh, she’s fine, running her business empire with an iron fist, using William dear to keep tabs on me, trying to dictate my every action…you know, the usual,” the teenager says dismissively.

Carmilla sighs. The teenage years weren’t easy for most, but they’d been exceptionally unkind to her. Mother is, for all intents and purposes, the only parent she’s ever known – the car crash that took her biological parents when she was barely five grows more distant every year – but that doesn’t make things easier.

“I can’t say much,” she begins carefully, her younger self looking up sharply at the words, “But things…things get better. You’re going off to college soon.” _You’re going to meet Laura._

Her younger self snorts, looking unimpressed. “Yeah, college. At good old Silas U, mommy dearest’s beloved alma mater. Can’t wait.”

“Trust me…it may surprise you.”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Carmilla starts to respond, but stops as the familiar weakness overtakes her. Teenage Carmilla immediately understand what’s going on, of course, and adds, “Well, _one_ of us will be seeing, anyway.”

“God, you’re such a teenager,” Carmilla manages to get out, getting dizzier by the second.

Her younger self chuckles, picking her book back up as Carmilla fades. “I am. But the teenage years are an awfully stressful time for us poor adolescents, after all.”

 

**Laura is 12, Carmilla is 35**

Sitting up, Carmilla ruefully notes that at least it’s summer here, and for once the damn ground isn’t cold mud as is so often the case when she shows up in the clearing near Laura’s house.

She locates the duffel bag after some minutes of poking around in the bushes (a “security measure” Laura has always insisted is necessary to keep her father from finding it and immediately assuming she’s planning on running away, although why she would run away with only one oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweats, Carmilla doesn’t know) and pulls on the clothes inside.

Pulling her hair free from the shirt, she walks back to the grassy spot she and Laura usually sit at, talking or playing Scrabble or otherwise passing the time (e.g. Carmilla skillfully evading Laura’s rapid fire questions about what happens in the future – Carmilla had laid down the ground rules for these visits and how she couldn’t disclose any information about what the future held for either of them, but that doesn’t stop the eternally inquisitive girl from trying anyway) until she is yanked back to her own time.

She slows at the sight of Laura standing by the same tree she’d first seen her at all those years ago, stopping altogether, her greeting dying on her lips, when she takes in the girl’s somber black dress and tights, eyes red-rimmed and face pale and drawn. A pang of foreboding stabs at her, and she doesn’t need to look at the journal clutched tightly in Laura’s hands or check the date written there in her neat handwriting to know what today is.

July 3, 2008 is burned into her memory with the rest of dates significant to her girlfriend, and the day Laura buried her mother ranks perhaps most highly of all.

Laura breaks the silence first. “You knew,” she says, her voice dull.

Regret washes over Carmilla; she’s always dreaded this day, this moment. There are pros and cons to being a time-traveler, but generally she considers it more burden than blessing, and this cursed knowledge is worst of all.

“Laura-”

“You knew, and you didn’t say anything.”

Carmilla slowly exhales. It’s true; she had known, of course, but she never could tell Laura, couldn’t put that burden on her shoulders. It was the right thing to do, she believes that, but doesn’t make the pain sting any less or the guilt bite any less deeply.

“This date has been in my stupid journal for how many years? Should I be scared of every single one of them written in here?” Laura asks sharply, anger seeping into her tone.

“Laura, I couldn’t-”

“No!” Laura interrupts, anger full-fledged now. “You just sat there and calmly told me every date of your stupid visits! You watched me write them, and you knew the whole time _my mom was going to die_!”

“ _Of course_ I wanted to say something!” Carmilla bursts back, blinking back tears. “But I have these rules for a reason, Laura! Would it have made anything easier? You couldn’t have stopped it!”

“At least I would have tried!” the girl responds, angry tears running down her face.

“And you think I _haven’t_? How many times I’ve tried to stop my parents from getting into that car? It doesn’t matter. I can only visit moments. I can’t change them,” Carmilla says bitterly. “No matter how many times I relive them.”

Laura is watching her, her eyes wide and tears still dripping down her cheeks. Carmilla mentally curses herself for letting her emotions get the best of her, especially in the face of a grieving twelve year old. Even at this age Laura can still get under her skin, it seems.

Sighing, she steps a bit closer. “Hey…I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

Laura turns away, crossing her arms protectively over her chest, but doesn’t shrug away from Carmilla’s tentative hand on her shoulder.

“Laura…”

“My mom is dead. She left us,” she whispers, her shoulders starting to shake slightly. “She left _me_.”

“I know, sweetheart. And I’m so, so sorry,” Carmilla replies, her heart breaking.

Laura turns fully into Carmilla’s embrace, sobbing into her chest while Carmilla comforts her as best she can.

They stand there for a long time.

 

**Laura is 15, Carmilla is 30**

“HA! Triple word score, double letter score, _and_ I used a J! I am a Scrabble _god_.”

Carmilla feels her eye twitch. “Jarl is _not_ a word, creampuff.”

“It is according to the official Scrabble dictionary, Carm,” Laura says, self-satisfaction radiating off her as she points to the entry. “Jarl: a Scandinavian nobleman. Pretty ignorant of you not to know that, no?”

“You just looked that up!”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my fifty-six, no, sorry, fifty- _seven_ points,” Laura says smugly, reaching over to add the points to the score card.

Carmilla rolls her eyes. “Remind me why I play this inane word game with you again?”

“Uh, because we’re both insanely competitive and you not-so-secretly love Scrabble?”

A rare grin breaks through Carmilla’s mock glare. “True. You’re lucky I like you, cupcake.”

Laura’s face reddens, and she busies herself with collecting new letters and arranging them just so on her rack as Carmilla watches fondly. The girl hasn’t been the same since her mother’s death, and she rarely brings it up – Carmilla can guess that the confrontation between Laura and whichever version of herself was there that day didn’t go terribly well – but her high school years have been kind to her, bringing her out of her shell as she gets involved with her school’s paper and debate team and getting scarily good at Krav Maga.

Letter arrangement complete, Laura looks up at Carmilla, her cheeks still a little pink. “Your turn, _cupcake_.”

They play on for a while longer, mostly silent but enjoying each other’s presence as the points add up and the cookies in the Chips Ahoy container Laura brought along steadily disappear. Carmilla manages to bring her score back up with a well-placed ‘X,’ much to her relief (she refuses to lose to a fifteen-year-old as a matter of pride).

“Hey, Carm?” Laura asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

Carmilla looks up from her close study of the board. “What’s up, buttercup?”

Laura stares at the board determinedly, before saying with forced casualness, “So, I was wondering…I mean, I feel like you’d know, since you’re older than me and all, although I don’t know how much older than me you actually are, which doesn’t matter, although maybe it could, but-”

“What were you wondering?” Carmilla’s gotten very good at re-steering Laura when she babbles herself into embarrassed hysteria.

Laura takes a deep breath. “That is, I was wondering how…well, how you know when you like someone? Like, more than just friends?”

Carmilla smiles delightedly. “Why, someone catch your eye? At school, perhaps?”

Laura blushes again, avoiding Carmilla’s eyes.  “I…something like that? But, well, this person, she’s, well, a _she_ , and I don’t really know if she feels the same way or if she’d be weirded out since I’m a girl, too…”

Carmilla raises her eyebrows. “Well, it never stopped me, cupcake.”

Laura looks at her, mouth opening in surprise.

Carmilla smirks, before continuing, “But really, you won’t know until you try, Laura. And there’s nothing weird or anything for you to be ashamed about maybe liking a girl. We’re pretty great, you know.”

Laura laughs, a relieved sound. “That’s true. We are, aren’t we?”

Carmilla merely smiles at her.

 

**Laura is 29, Carmilla is 30**

Carmilla reappears in her own bed, still amused. After pulling her sleep shirt back on, she nudges Laura awake. She doesn’t always share her visits with past or future Lauras unless something particularly memorable happens, but this is too good to pass up.

“Ungh…what is it, Carm, ‘m sleeping…” Laura mumbles, swatting at Carmilla’s hand.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I just helped you through your sexual orientation crisis, so you’re welcome,” Carmilla replies casually.

That fully wakes up Laura, as Carmilla expected.

“You _what_?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows.

“We played Scrabble? You asked me how you know when you like someone? A girl someone?”

Laura squints in thought for a moment, before realization hits and she laughs delightedly. “Oh my _god_ , how could I ever forget that!”  
  
“So? Do you think the girl likes you back?” Carmilla asks, nudging her playfully.

Laura rolls her eyes, reaching for Carmilla. “I know she does,” she replies before their lips meet.

 

**Laura is 19, Carmilla is 20**

“You’ve known _this whole time_?”

Laura nods reluctantly.

“You’ve known since we met?”

Another nod, even more reluctant.

“You let me sit you down and give you this whole speech about my condition, with a _PowerPoint_ , and you knew?” Carmilla adds, her tone dangerous.

Laura winces.

“Jesus, Laura!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Carm, but you – well, older you – made me promise not to tell you until now!”

Carmilla massages her temples. Of course her older self, in all her wisdom, would throw in some clause like that.

“Carm…?” Laura says hesitantly.

Carmilla sighs. “I’m not mad at you, Laura. This is actually probably a good thing. I just can’t believe…”

“Can’t believe what?”

“I can’t believe I’ve had to make up the most ridiculous excuses for the past year.”

Laura lets out a slightly hysterical giggle before clapping a hand over her mouth.

“I mean…the Philosophy department faculty here has always been a little eccentric, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them _did_ hold a talk on Goethe at 3 AM,” she says, her voice shaking suspiciously.

Carmilla shoots her a dirty look, and Laura dissolves into laughter, Carmilla holding her glare for a few seconds before giving in and joining her.

Laughter dying down, she loops her arm around Laura’s shoulders, pulling the other girl close. “Jokes aside, if it had to be anyone, I’m happy it was you.”

Laura puts her head on Carmilla’s shoulder. “I’m happy it was me, too.”

 

**Laura is 18, Carmilla is 19**

Laura sits at her computer desk, scrolling through her Tumblr dash a little morosely. The dorm seems emptier than ever today, and she casts a glance at the stripped mattress across from her own and sighs. Betty had left the day before yesterday, her transfer to Princeton approved (“Sorry, Laura, but after being at this school for a month I have no idea why I came here.”), and she’s still adjusting to her nascent friend and roommate’s departure.

The university has notified her that they’ll be finding her a replacement roommate, but she has no idea who it’ll be or when they’ll be coming.

Closing her browser, she’s eyeing her ever-present container of cookies, pondering another one, when the door to the dorm swings open, banging against the wall. She jumps, pieces of cookie flying everywhere, as a stranger barges into the room.

Glaring, she swivels to confront the intruder, ready to incapacitate them with a single swift strike to the throat, when she stops short, her eyes growing wide. Because it’s Carmilla. It’s _Carmilla_ , _her_ Carmilla, standing at the iHome and putting on some loud screamo death metal. 

Laura notes her dark garb with some amusement – from her motorcycle boots to her (ridiculously hot) leather pants and ripped shirt, everything about her screams punk. It’s a little surprising, but then again she’s only ever seen Carmilla in whatever clothing she could steal from the laundry without her dad noticing, of which roughly none could be called remotely edgy.

She also doesn’t really care. Because Carmilla is here, and she’s being obnoxious, and god, she’s so _young_ , and it’s perfect because their timelines finally, _finally_ match up.

Carmilla takes Laura’s stunned silence as shock at her dramatic entrance, and smirks, clearly pleased at the reaction. “Hey. I’m Carmilla. I’m your new roommate, sweetheart,” she drawls.

She’s clearly taken aback at Laura’s delighted laugh, her smirk slipping a bit. Laura manages to stop herself before her “new roommate” thinks she’s insane, and draws a deep breath, releasing it as if she’s been holding it for a long, long time.

“I’m Laura. It’s really nice to meet you, Carmilla.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: FOIA is the Freedom of Information Act, through which people can petition any department of the US federal gov to release gov records on various topics; if you manage to get some interesting records it can lead to some great investigative reporting. Some journalism nerdery for you.
> 
> Also, writing Carmilla vs. Carmilla sass is v. fun. Highly recommended.


End file.
